As Leaves Wither and Fall
by Zephyrin
Summary: A comparatively philosophical attempt at a Reid-centric story.   Just when Reid is taking some time to sort his thoughts out and face the demons that haunt him, he gets called in on a particularly queer case.  Contains crime scene descriptions / no slash
1. Prologue

_This is my first attempt at writing a fanfiction and I am not a native speaker, so please be merciful! _

_Comments and criticism are welcome! In other words: "Reid & review, please!"_

_Prompts: eerie, fall, harp (thanks to Draugwen :-) )  
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_Oh, and I obviously don't own anything!  
>_<em>

**As Leaves Wither and Fall**

Prologue: Leaves

How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and colour are their last days.

~John Burroughs

Fall was a time of harvest, a time of merriment – but also a time of death. The Celtic year ended with the death of the Sun-God Cernunnos on the last day of October; a holiday that was in modern times known as All Hallows' Eve or Hallowe'en. The wheel of the year was a mirror of all life – people were born, lived, withered and died, just like everything in nature. A process that infinitely repeated. And just like birth, death was irrevocably a part of life. But even though people had learned to acknowledge this fact, they had never quite been able to _accept_ it.

Dr. Spencer Reid quietly watched as a colourful leaf soundlessly tore free from a branch and spiralled towards the ground, was picked up by a gust of wind only to join its brethren shortly afterwards. It was in the early morning hours of a Sunday in late October and the world was covered in a thick layer of fog that seemed to muffle every sound until the silence was almost deafening.

Unable to catch up on his much-needed sleep, the young FBI agent had eventually given up tossing around in his bed, left his small apartment and ventured into the park. The sun was only just about to rise, hidden behind a solid layer of clouds, illuminating the world in an eerie light. It was hard to make out any clear shapes and a lot was left to the imagination. A damp chill made Reid shiver, as he sat on a park bench, a book lying open and – for once – unregarded in his lap.

The rest of the city had yet to resume its noisy tasks, which allowed him to find a moment of peace in this calm before the storm as he liked to call it. Lost in thought, his gaze trailed off, not focussing on anything in particular. His co-workers had more than once wondered what twisted trails and paths his brilliant mind trod when he dwelled in his own world, something that would forever be a mystery to them.

The scenery was almost surreal. At this moment, Reid could easily comprehend why generations of people had worshipped nature as divine, why people were willing to believe in the supernatural and the magical. Where Shakespeare got his ideas for his plays. What inspired Grieg to compose all these queer songs about trolls and dwarves. He had to admit that – no matter what his own beliefs were – the sheer beauty of this moment, the electrifying force of nature, was worth worshipping. Not that there was any truly untouched nature in this park in Quantico, Virginia, but imagination was a powerful tool, a weapon even, and even though Spencer was a man of intellect and reason, he had never fully given up dreaming. He was painfully jolted out of his thoughts when the loud beeping of his phone pervaded the air. A call at this time of the day on a Sunday could only mean one thing. And it would not be pleasant.


	2. Chapter 1: Family

Chapter 1: Family

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone  
>In the ranks of death you'll find him,<br>His father's sword he has girded on,  
>And his wild harp slung behind him.<br>~ Thomas Moore

Clinging on to a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Spencer Reid stumbled through the glass doors of the Behavioural Analysis Unit's premises. Still lost in thought, he almost ran into SSA Hotchner and was regarded with one of his infamous stares. "Sorry, Hotch", he mumbled apologetically.

His grim supervisor's face momentarily lit up with something like sympathy. The young doctor looked like he hadn't gotten all too much sleep lately. That combined with everything he'd been through during the past years – almost getting killed several times, being shot in the leg and tortured for 2 days straight, almost dying of an anthrax attack and his struggle against the dilaudid – had left him looking rather haggard and wrecked and Hotch could swear that he was even leaner and the circles around his eyes even darker than usual.

But despite all his troubles he had never failed to support his friends whenever they needed him, had continued to do his job in his usual meticulous manner, put the well-being of everyone else above his own and even developed a kind of tenacity and self-confidence that had not been there when he first joined the BAU at the age of 21. Yes, he had come far, even if it had come at a price. It always did. Hotch knew that better than anyone. "Conference room in 5 minutes" he said as meekly as possible.

Judging from the numerable coffee cups and bedroom eyes, Reid's colleagues were just as tired out as he was, which was not exactly an uncommon sight in the BAU. It didn't stop Morgan from greeting him with his usual "Good morning, pretty boy!" This was something Reid loved about his teammates: No matter how horrible a case or how tired the profilers, it always felt like they were a family, rather than just maintaining a working-relationship.

"Okay, guys", they were greeted as JJ started the briefing. "CMPD called half an hour ago and asked us to assist them in a case that is… rather unusual, to say the least." Turning to the screen, she projected a picture of a brunette woman on the wall. "27-year old Amanda Wilkins, a waitress at an Irish Pub in Charlotte, North Carolina. She was discovered a few hours ago, propped up against the front window of the pub, clearly visible for every passer-by. She was posed holding a Celtic harp." "What was the cause of death?" Morgan asked. "That's where it gets even weirder. The left half of her body was entirely cut up like from several parallel razorblades, meaning she eventually bled to death. CMPD is still puzzled as to what could have caused the wounds. No murder-weapon was found. Are we taking the case?"

"I think we should." Hotch replied. "Wheels up in 30."

North Carolina greeted them with a cold wind and more rain than was truly necessary. "Agent Jareau?" a husky voice asked from underneath a dark green umbrella. The woman in question stepped forward to shake the man's hand, using her other arm to hug her coat tightly around her. He was a balding man of medium height, probably in his mid-fifties, who was clearly not a bad weather person.

"Detective Milford, CMPD. We spoke on the phone."  
>"Nice to meet you! These are SSAs Hotchner, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan and Dr. Reid."<p>

"Thank you so much for coming. I've been in this line of work for almost 30 years and have seen my share of crime scenes and dead bodies, but this one leaves me baffled. Do you want to go to your hotel first?"  
>"No, we'd like to go directly to the crime scene first, if you don't mind. We have to see if we can rule out the possibility of further assaults so we can determine how to proceed from here", Hotch replied.<p>

"As you wish. This way."


	3. Chapter 2: Do Not Let Beauty Deceive You

**Chapter 2: Do Not Let Beauty Deceive You **

All the world's a stage,  
>And all the men and women merely players;<br>They have their exits and their entrances,  
>And one man in his time plays many parts,<br>His acts being seven ages.

~ William Shakespeare~

If you have ever been called in to investigate a body in 90 degree weather, you have probably learned to appreciate the benefits of cold weather. It kept the sweet stench of decay and the coppery smell of blood that usually filled a crime scene moderately at bay. It did nothing to sugarcoat the sight of the mutilated, pale bodies, though.

The pub was swarming with people. A forensics team had gathered outside the front door, waiting for the FBI agents to finish their inspection, so they could move the body to the morgue. Several cops were walking in and out of the building, carefully minding their business, none of them paying much attention to the newcomers.

.

The team entered the dimly lit room. It looked almost exactly like your average Irish pub: dark wood-panelled walls, small, round tables randomly scattered all over the place, the obligatory harp icon and Guinness advertisement here and there, a bar in one corner and a small dais at the far end of the of the room that seemed to serve as a stage for live music. Nothing seemed out of place …except for the dead woman.

Ten minutes later the team had taken up pursuing their tasks.

Reid scrutinized the corpse from head to toe. The woman had brown, curly, shoulder-length hair that was covered in blood on one side where the blades had penetrated her skull. She was dressed in a long, old-fashioned blue dress that covered part of the cuts and was soaked just as much. Rigor had already set in and the blood was beginning to dry. "Forensics put the time of death at around 04:00 am", Detective Milford answered his question. "Which means she's been dead for about 5 hours now", he added, trying to avoid looking at the carnage that was spread in front of him.

He secretly wondered what the young man crouching next to him had had to face in his job. He, a veteran who had been around a long time, could barely look at the mutilated corpse and had to fight hard not to let the sickening smell overpower him. Yet this kid – he could not be older than 30! – had not even flinched at the horrible sight but had simply begun analyzing the evidence in front of him with serene, analyzing eyes.

Spencer Reid leaned forward to inspect the gashes. They were utterly parallel. Mathematically so! The unsub had either spent a lot of time and effort to achieve this with a single blade, or had used a weapon that consisted of several blades.

"What've you got, pretty boy?" Morgan said, kneeling next to him. "Anything useful?"

"I don't know…" Reid answered, eyes still fixed on the wounds, his face only inches away.

"Judging from the blood flow from all the cuts, they had been inflicted at almost the same time. Ante mortem. And they continue underneath her clothes, which means she wasn't wearing them when the unsub cut her up. They probably weren't even hers. I mean… look at them. I know I'm not really an expert in that field, but this is clearly not 21st century fashion…"

Morgan nodded. His genius friend had a point. "He staged her. But why?"

"I don't know. But the harp… the dress… it all looks like an image from an ancient Irish tale…I have no idea what it means, though", he admitted. "What confuses me even more are the cuts themselves. They perfectly parallel one another. As I said, they were probably inflicted ante mortem, but that would have taken time and the victim could have fought back. Why didn't she? There are no defence marks whatsoever. No ligature marks, nothing to indicate she has even been tied in any way. Even the slightest movement could have ruined the pattern…

This leaves us with two possibilities: She was either unconscious when he tortured her, or they were indeed inflicted at _exactly _the same time, which leaves us with a murder weapon that consists of several blades – nothing I have ever heard of."

"He also didn't bother closing her eyes. It's like he wanted her to see something… but all she's looking at is the window frame. She's not facing the room or the street…" Prentiss joined her team-mates. They exchanged a disgruntled look. Reid knew they were missing something… but what? What did this all mean?

The young doctor took in the scene once more, brooding over its significance. Something was off… Then it hit him. "Wait a minute…" He carefully raised a gloved hand to touch one of the strings. "Look at this! These aren't strings…" he said, inspecting the small cut in his rubber gloves. "They are thin blades…"

"Wait, are you telling me the murder weapon is a _harp_?" Morgan burst out incredulously.

"It makes sense. The blades are all arranged collaterally. The harp isn't covered in blood because it was placed here. It's covered in blood because it was used to cut up Amanda Wilkins!" Reid sputtered with his usual excitement.

Morgan and Prentiss still looked stunned, but they could see that their friend was right.

"But, seriously, a _harp?_ You have to be pretty sick to connect such a delicate, frail instrument to such violence and turn it into a murder weapon. It's absolutely absurd… not to mention impractical!"

"Oh, it's not such a preposterous idea at all!" Reid replied agitatedly, his eyes lighting up. "The Irish used harps in battle, just like the Scots used bag pipes or the English used trumpets. It is said that Brian Boru, the famous Irish High King, marched into battle accompanied by 1000 bards playing their harps! I'm pretty sure that must have been quite an eerie sight… There's actually a song telling the tale of this battle which is called "Brian Boru's March".

"Reid…"

"It is rumoured that the Irish bards played it for 3 entire days at his grave and…"  
>"Reid!" Morgan interrupted, a little more forcefully this time.<p>

"Yes… sorry…"

_A/N: You are probably just as confused as Morgan and Prentiss right now because a harp is among the top 10 most impractical murder weapons ever. Trust me, they know. It will be part of the profile ;-). I actually tested this (not with blades though ^^) and it would work (given the right circumstances).  
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	4. Chapter 3: A Journey Through the Dark

**Chapter 3: A Journey Through the Dark**

"_If one is master of one thing and understands one thing well, one has at the same time insight into and understanding of many things."_

_~ Vincent Van Gogh_

A few hours later the team had set up camp at the local police department. Reid was busying himself, allocating crime scene photos on a pinboard, while Prentiss, Rossi and Morgan brooded over their increasingly extensive case files.

A heavy silence filled the room, only penetrated by the occasional shuffle, a cough or the turning of a page. "Dammit!" Morgan suddenly burst out, slamming his folder on his desk. He leaned back, sighing. It was going to be a very long day.

Hotch chose that very moment to join the rest of his enervated team. "I've seen the body off to the coroner's office." he informed them. "JJ is still at the crime scene, questioning the pub owner. What have we got so far?"

"Well… there's the staged dead body, obviously, dressed in historical clothing. And then there's the harp, a most peculiar murder weapon…" Rossi replied.

"The unsub managed to sneak in with the weapon undetected, murdered a woman at a public place without anyone noticing, brought fresh clothes with him and had the time to stage the victim. That means he's highly organized", Prentiss continued.

"He spent a lot of time with the victim. He apparently knew that he'd be alone for a while. But how did he create that situation in the first place?"  
>"I guess I can answer that" JJ cut, greeting her team with a tired smile. " I talked to the owner of the pub, Mr. Hendricks. He went home early last night. Amanda was the last at work and she was to close the pub before leaving. Maybe the unsub waited until they were alone and she was an easy target. Mr. Hendricks informed me that they had an open stage event yesterday, meaning that everyone was welcome to perform on stage."<p>

"That explains why no one paid any attention to him and the harp. Nobody would remember him, because a lot of musicians walked in and out of the place" Morgan concluded. "It would also explain the choice of weapon. But why stage her like that?" It was a truly intricate situation. Morgan's trail of thoughts was interrupted when his phone rang.  
>"Hey Baby girl. Please tell me you got something for me…"<p>

"Has the oracle of all digital information ever disappointed you, oh unbeliever?"

Morgan felt a tiny smile play around his lips. He had often wondered how Garcia managed to keep up her good spirits almost 24/7 and he was undeniably glad that she did. "Let me think about that for a moment" he replied with mock sincerity. "Don't hurt yourself!" came the curt reply. "I would love to see you struggle, but time's of the essence, so I'll just bluntly blurt out what I found. So, Amanda Wilkins' maiden name is O'Brian. She was born and raised in Ireland. When she was 11 years old, her family moved to North Carolina. Her father died earlier this year, but her mother still lives in Charlotte, on the other side of town. Amanda's husband, Jeremy Wilkins, is a used car salesman. She also has a brother, but please don't ask me to pronounce his name; I'll text it to you. While Amanda never went to college, he studied at MIT, but I haven't found much on him after his graduation. I'll keep digging, though."

"Thanks, Penelope!"  
>"At your immediate disposal, my loves! P.G. out!" the lively woman bowed out.<p>

"Well… it's _something…_" Rossi said.

Reid ran through probabilities in his head as he poured himself a cup of much-needed coffee. He felt raddled. The sleepless nights were slowly beginning to wear him out. Even though his headaches had lessened, a constant, nagging feeling of hollowness was beginning to grow inside of him. He just couldn't put his finger on what caused it. He had to get a grip on himself. His personal problems couldn't interfere with his work. Too much was at stake! A woman was dead and her killer was still out there.

Even though they had plenty of evidence, there wasn't all that much to work with. Amanda's Irish origins hinted at connection between her past and the circumstances of her murder.

Spencer returned to their now vacant workroom and started scribbling down trails of thoughts on the whiteboard. They could narrow the list of unsubs down to family members, acquaintances from their past in Ireland and basically anything with a remote relation to the country.

While he forced himself to keep busy, Reid could feel that he wasn't paying full attention to the case. His mind kept trailing off and seemed to move but sluggishly through a fog as thick as the one he'd been walking through earlier this morning. What confused him the most was that he couldn't even quite localize the cause of his absentmindedness. He was just not his usual self.

"Hey kiddo" a voice interrupted his thoughts from behind. The young agent jumped and spilled his coffee all over the floor.  
>"Woha, Reid! Relax! It's just me!" Derek tried to calm his friend, surprised at the tall man's reaction. "You okay?"<p>

"Yeah, sure… why wouldn't I be?" he replied in his usual precarious manner. "Well, pretty boy, because you just jumped?" Morgan suggested.

"I was just lost in thought…"

"Look, Reid, I know your mind is a most cryptic place that I'm not even trying to understand, but you're nor fooling me. Or anyone else on the team, for the matter. C'mon. What's the going on inside that pretty head of yours?"

"It's just… been a long night. Guess I'm a little tired…" Spencer tried to evade the question.

Morgan held his friend's glance for a while with a stern expression and then released him. He didn't buy it. Oh, his friend was tired all right, but that was certainly not the main problem. Yet he decided to drop the matter for the moment. Now was not the right time for a therapy session and as long as Reid didn't suffer a psychic breakdown, it would have to wait. He was strong, stronger than most people gave him credit for. Derek realised with mild surprise that he wouldn't have made that decision a few years ago. He sometimes still failed to acknowledge that Reid had… grown up, in a way, but also trusted him to be able too keep it together until the case was over.

"Okay." He finally said and left with a last worried glance at his self-declared protégée.

**A/N:** _Sorry for the extremely long silence, I have been insanely busy lately._..

_I realize that this chapter isn't all that interesting, but I need to provide you with proper background information...I guess..._

_ I hope the next chapter will finally contain some more ... action ^^ _

_**Reviews and criticism are still welcome!**  
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_**marcallie:** Thank you so much for your kind words! Ohmy, now I have to be extra careful XD I've never ever been to the USA and I have to admit that I don't know anything about North Carolina... I guess I should finally do some decent research 8) Please let me know if I include any fatal errors! _

_**Magil: **A very big "Thank you!" for your encouraging review! I'm glad you liked it so far :)  
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	5. Chapter 4: Sleepless

**Sleepless**

_If you can't sleep, then get up and do something instead of lying there worrying. It's the worry that gets you, not the lack of sleep. ~Dale Carnegie_

_~.:*:.~  
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_Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day. ~Friedrich Nietzsche_

_~.:*:.~  
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It was two o'clock in the morning and Spencer Reid was spending yet another night tossing around in his bed, praying to whatever deity would listen that sleep would come. But sleep seemed to be occupied elsewhere, pursuing different plans. Or maybe Spencer had simply been crossed out of sleep's list by accident? He groaned, turned over once more and pulled his blanket over his head. This was cursed.

Hotch had sent the entire team to their hotel rooms to get some sleep two hours earlier, ignoring every kind of protest. He'd argued that they'd thank him for it later. _Though probably not immediately_, Prentiss had grumbled, as they were to call back in bright and early at 7:00 am. Like Spencer, she was not what you would call a morning person.

To make things worse, Reid's headaches had hit him again full force. So now he was desperately trying to relax as much as possible, listening to his watch ticking away the seconds.

Tick.

Tack.

Tick.

Tack.

TICK.

TACK.

The sound seemed to echo painfully in his ears, threatening to burst his eardrums, hammering on the inside of his skull, echoing back and forth.

Around 4:00 am he was ready to throw a fit. The watch was safely locked away in the farthest corner of his bathroom underneath a pile of clothes and towels, but there were enough noises to torment his overfatigued mind. He had briefly considered sleeping pills, but cast away the idea only moments later. No, he was not yet ready to take any chances. The last thing he needed right now was a possible addiction to worry about.

He hoped that at least his team mates would get some rest. Someone had to solve the case, and Reid got the feeling that it wouldn't be him.

If only he could figure out what caused these headaches! The doctors had not been able to find any physical deficiencies. One had suggested a psychosomatic cause, but Reid had immediately pegged it as absurd and had downright stormed out of the doctor's office.

The truth of the matter was that he had already considered this possibility himself – his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic, he was the right age…But he knew that this simply could not – _must not_ – be the reason. It had to be something else. There was simply too much at stake! He was not willing to lose his family, the first real friends he'd ever had! His job! His _life_!

Ever since he'd been able to grasp the concept of schizophrenia, he'd been scared of what was happening to his mother, had felt like he was betraying her when he had her institutionalized and had above all dreaded that he'd one day find himself in her shoes. Up to this day he was still frightened to his bones whenever he visited Diana, partly because even though he'd studied Psychology intensively and read every book about schizophrenia he could lay his hands on, he'd not been able to find a cure. He was absolutely and entirely powerless, something he was not used to. The fact that he could not find any answers in any of his books unnerved him immensely.

And so – against his usual rationality – he tried to make it untrue by simply denying it.

Around 05:00 am his tormented mind finally called it quits and drifted off into unconsciousness.

_~.:*:.~  
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A loud, banging sound woke him mercilessly. Still drowsy, he wondered if his watch had decided to take revenge and gotten back-up? It took him a while to force his eyes open and yet another moment to realize that he could by no means blame his watch, unless it had sneaked out of his room and was now knocking on the door for admittance.

Secretly wondering whether a tank had rolled over him while he was knocked out, he crawled out of bed and staggered towards the general direction of his hotel room door. Meanwhile the banging increased.

Spencer fought a short fight against the door handle, his hand still not quite willing to co-operate, won eventually and opened the door open a few inches. Outside stood a very irritated Derek Morgan, fist raised to knock once again, flippant remark ready on his tongue.

But whatever he had intended to say to Reid was forgotten the moment he took in the genius' green-greyish complexion.

"Geez, Reid!" he breathed.

"Good morning to you, too" Reid mumbled unintelligibly.

Morgan just stared open-mouthed.  
>"That bad?" Reid asked. "Really? Wow. Derek Morgan – dumbstruck. That's a rare sight." He made a weak attempt at a smile, but only managed a painful grin.<p>

"To what do I owe this untimely encounter?"

"Uhm… actually… you kinda… overslept. We should be at the police station in 10 minutes. The whole team's waiting in the lobby, but no one had seen you so far, so I thought I'd check in on you…Man, you look terrible, kid! Like you haven't slept in months!"

"Irgh…guess I just have a lot of sleep to catch up on" Reid lied. "I'll be right there…" Dammit. He really needed to get this under control.

Eyes still half closed, he teetered towards the bathroom, uncovered his watch and changed. Or rather: he tried. He gave up on the dress shirt after a few unsuccessful tries to button it up and picked a plain pullover instead. Avoiding even the smallest glance at the mirror, he stumbled back out and, shivering a little from nausea, sat on his bed to pour himself a glass of water.

There was only one thing that could save him now.

_Coffee. _

_~.:*:.~_

_A/N.:I wrote this chapter at some point between 6:00 and 7:00 am before going to bed. Have mercy! :P It's not overly exciting I fear, but a little more focused on Reid again. Hope you like it!_

_Also , I couldn't decide which quote to pick, so you get two this time :-)  
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_P.S.:Thanks for the nice reviews! I'm always happy to receive more!_


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